The World in Flames
by Lila Pitch
Summary: John tries to adjust to his life now that Mary's gone... but it's hard. Just a little One Shot


**A/N:** **This takes place a week or so after the end of The Six Thatchers. I'm writing this as if the stupid redhead at the bus stop didn't exist (because I know we all wish she didn't) and as if John would have no reason to be guilty, only sad. Therefore, John isn't taking his guilt out on Sherlock, though he still doesn't want to talk.**

John had finally managed to leave his house without having a mental breakdown. Mrs. Hudson had stopped by to pick up Rosie and John had decided to go to the store. He was taking it slow, going only to a little grocery on the corner, keeping his eyes on the pavement so as not to see anything, however small, that might remind him of Mary. He didn't look at the house with the paint color she'd always made fun of, he didn't look at the little garden gnomes she would point out to Rosie when the three of them went out walking, and he didn't look at the cat sunning itself on a porch step, a cat that always made Mary say, "Can't we get a cat John?" Mary loved cats…

It was a warm, sunny day. John didn't understand it. How dare the world be sunny. How dare people laugh happily as they pass by with their friends, how dare the world continue as if nothing was different…because everything was different.

He was quick in the store. In, grab milk, cheerios (Rosie loved cheerios), pay, out, and back onto the streets filled with the ghosts of happier times.

Despite his precautions by the time he got back to his flat there were tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Mary. Why did she have to go? Why does Rosie have to grow up without a mother? Why is the world still moving, still bright and beautiful, still filled with life, when Mary is not? He opened the door to his house and shut it quickly behind him, blocking out the rest of the world. Except…was he alone? He could hear something coming from the kitchen, something that sounded like…typing. John went in to investigate-and found Sherlock Holmes sitting at the counter, typing away at his laptop. Sherlock looked up when John entered the room and quickly closed the computer.

There was silence as the two looked at each other.

After a while Sherlock spoke. "I came in through the window…" he gestured to an open window behind him. John said nothing.

More silence. Then-

"John- "

"No, Sherlock, don't. I don't want to talk. I don't want to talk to anyone right now."

Sherlock nodded slowly, then gestured to the counter in front of him, where there were two steaming mugs of tea "Tea?" he asked.

The idea that Sherlock was being tactful managed to surprise him, at least enough to take the mug of tea. He sat down on the stool next to Sherlock.

"I still don't want to talk."

"Okay."

The two sat there for a minute, sipping tea in silence. Until the silence was broken by a sniff. And then by a throat-clearing noise. And then John could no longer hide his tears and they ran down his face is small trickles.

Sherlock placed a hand on Johns shoulder. "John," he said.

"Why did she have to die Sherlock? Why?" John stared down into his mug of tea as tears dripped down his face.

"I don't know."

John let out a sob, and then, ever so slowly, leaned his head on his friend's shoulder, needing to know for a moment that he wasn't completely alone, and needing to remind himself that he wasn't the only one who missed Mary. He wasn't the only one who would give anything for her to still be alive.

For a while they just sat there. John with his head resting on Sherlock's shoulder, tears dripping down his face, and Sherlock sitting stiffly on his stool, not wanting to disturb his friend by moving.

After a while Sherlock reopened his laptop and began to type, still careful not to disturb John. John looked over at the case Sherlock was working on, his tears still falling, but less consistently, less fiercely. When Mary died, his whole world went up in flames. He lost his will to get up, to go to work, to see his friends, to do anything but care for his daughter and try desperately to keep from completely falling apart. And John knew it wasn't going to stop. He knew this pain was never going to go away. But he also knew that Sherlock wouldn't let him go through it alone.


End file.
